


Charged

by Vikarmic



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 16:10:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vikarmic/pseuds/Vikarmic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a fic_promptly prompt: "The first time Hope casts Thundaga."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charged

It only takes a few seconds for the fight to go wrong before Hope's eyes.

It's not like they haven't fought pulsework automata before, but this group seems to be smarter than average. They close on Fang before she can set herself in a guard stance, hammering at her with steel fists. Lightning leaps to the attack, her gunblade whirling in deadly arcs, but despite the rents she leaves in their armor, it's not enough to deter them, and Fang falls to one knee, teeth bared, her spear blurring as she parries as many strikes as she can.

There's no time for him to shift to a healing stance. If someone's going to do something, it has to be him.

Hope thinks of lightning, focusing in the way he's learned by trial and error, and feels the power begin to well up inside him. Every element feels different; fire's a heat deep in his chest, and ice is a cold, timeless stillness, but thunder's a restless energy crackling all through his body, enlivening him. The power builds, passing the point where he'd normally release it; he doesn't. A single bolt won't be enough.

So he lets the lightning build inside him, build until his skin tingles and his body almost convulses with the urge to move, build until the air around him burns with a pale corona and sparks crawl over the bangle on his wrist. And just before the feeling's too much to bear, he hurls it all skyward, and lightning rains from the heavens.

The automata don't stand a chance. Thick ropes of lightning dance over them and their joints burn, their optics spark and explode, their circuits fry. The storm rolls on, savaging the earth even as the last automaton collapses, setting grass aflame and scorching the ground black.

When it's over, Hope is breathing hard, hands on his knees. His skin still feels too sensitive, and he feels invigorated rather than tired -- charged, maybe. Like he could do that all day.

Vanille is already at Fang's side, the emerald light of a healing spell already welling from her hands, but she grins at him over her partner's head. Snow's already coming up to ruffle his hair before he can duck, and he yelps as a few stray sparks sting his hand. "Save it for the enemy, kiddo," he complains, and Hope mock glares at him, secretly warmed.

Lightning walks back over from where she's been checking the automata for spare parts. "Not bad," she says, but the faint smile she gives Hope is all the praise he needs. "Think you're up to staying on point?"

"Right now," Hope says, "I feel up to pretty much anything."


End file.
